


eddie from 5 to 7

by decinq



Series: from 5 to 7 [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dialogue Heavy, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decinq/pseuds/decinq
Summary: Eddie has a sudden, vivid memory of an episode ofThe Simpsonsin his mind, someone saying to Millhouse,Maybe you should get your hopes up a bit.And Millhouse saying,They’re already up! They’re sky high!He doesn’t think he’s seen an episode of the show since grad school. His brain is so broken.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: from 5 to 7 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987027
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	eddie from 5 to 7

**i think my fear is gone. i think i'm happy.**  
\- cléo de 5 à 7 (1962), dir. agnes varda

The bottom right clock on Eddie’s laptop screen says it’s 5:01 PM, which means this god damn meeting ought to be over now, but Paul from marketing won’t stop humming and hawing about how hard his team has been working, as if their weekly _Senior Trade Meeting_ is the place to do that. Eddie is of the opinion that if you’re good enough at compiling your data, it speaks for itself. Let the numbers tell the story. If Paul’s team was actually working harder than anyone else’s team, their numbers would reflect that. A single look at Paul’s projected spending spreadsheet tells Eddie otherwise. Not that Paul’s good enough at math or reporting analytics to know that Eddie, and probably a few other people in the room including their boss Rebecca, can tell they’re overspending on labour for the net return value. 

“We’re running well overtime, and I know Michel has tickets to the hockey game, so let’s leave it there,” Rebecca says, and Eddie wants to sigh in relief but holds it back. It'd be unprofessional. Eddie clicks his pen, but before he can shut his laptop, Rebecca says, “Ed, can you hold back for a minute. We’ll walk together.”

All the meeting rooms on their floor are named after tunnels and bridges across the city, but this meeting room is his favourite - Holland - all the interns call it ‘Holly,’ which, once he was back from Derry and had his memories back, reminded him of Richie. Most things did, if he took the time to think about them. There are a line of windows that stretch the eastern wall of the room, and they have this meeting every Wednesday from 3:30 until 5 in this room. Sometimes, Eddie stays in the room after the meeting, if there’s no one using it after. There usually isn’t, most people staying well after five o’clock but not in any meetings, but rather sitting at their desks until near 7. Eddie’s familiar with the habit. A spit in the face of the HR team’s commitment to work-life balance. Eddie records all his overtime, now, and banks it as lieu time, collects an impressive amount of additional paid time off, on top of his four weeks of allotted vacation and 10 annual personal days. 

Rebecca isn’t perfect, in Eddie’s opinion, but then again, no one really is. But she’s a kind boss, if a bit disorganized and sometimes taking longer than Eddie what considers a respectful amount of time to respond to his emails. He knows it’s because she trusts him - they’ve worked together for nearly eight years. It’s a lot longer than most people last here, especially people at Eddie’s level, who often use their position here to leverage something at American International or New York Life. Eddie knows that Rebecca doesn’t try to shuck off Eddie or his concerns about anything - their bi-weekly one-on-one is often productive, and she’s always read his emails when he brings them up, just hasn’t gotten around to answering them. And if that’s her biggest flaw, as a manager, Eddie thinks that’s not too bad. She’s got a lot on her plate; plus, she’s responsible for managing Paul. Since that’s Eddie’s honest to God nightmare (and he’s had some difficult direct reports), he tries to cut her more slack than he usually would for anyone else. 

When he no-showed... When he took off to Derry and didn’t text her until after he’d been stabbed in the face, she didn’t even flinch. Was just happy he was okay. And afterwards, when he came back with a broken arm and needed to take a bunch of half-days to deal with divorce lawyers, she congratulated him on it and offered up her guest bedroom, which he would never accept but appreciated nonetheless. So while the idea of a boss asking him to hang back should set him on edge, it doesn’t with her. And he’s quite certain he knows what she wants to talk about. 

Once the last stragglers leave the room, she says, “I know our one-on-one isn’t until next week, but I figured you’d want to know what I’ve learned. And it’s not bad - before you get antsy on me.” She smiles as she says it. 

“Sure,” he says. “Will I need my computer, or can I shut’er down?” 

“Oh, no, we won’t need it.” She gathers her stuff - laptop and a moleskine notebook tucked under one arm, an old Nalgene bottle - that he thinks once had her alma mater’s name decalled on, but it’s wearing off - under the other arm. She must put it in the dishwasher. She has an empty mug with a tea bag label hanging out the side, wrapped around the handle. 

Eddie holds the door and she ducks by him and out of the room. They fall into stride. Her office is in the northeast corner of the floor, Eddie’s is smaller, has windows but not close to as many as hers, wall to wall natural light, and is tucked on the other side of the office. She always jokes and calls it New Jersey. Close but not close enough. It’s sweet. 

“So I spoke to Danny Prouxl.” She says, and Eddie nods. “Have you ever met Danny?”

“Not in person,” Eddie says, “But we’ve been on the same Teams call a few times.”

She nods. “So you know Prouxl leads Western and Central analytics.”

Eddie, cautious, says, “Yeah…” Because of course he knows. He knows she knows that he knows. 

“Well, I guess their people team didn’t loop him in about your transfer paperwork, so he was surprised when I brought it up today.”

He says, “I didn’t know his team had an opening.” Although he tries not to get ahead of himself, he can feel his hopes getting up, already nearly sky high. 

“Neither did I - but it turns out, they don’t.” Eddie scowls, and she must catch it, because she laughs. “I’m not trying to yank your chain. Have some faith.” 

He sucks his lips between his teeth, feels his cheeks rosy up a bit. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” she starts. Eddie falls behind her slightly as one of the junior accountants passes them. “Bye Sajida,” Rebecca says, and Eddie mimics her, and Eddie is impressed that Sajida gets out of here just after 5 o’clock each day but still is more on top of her work than anyone else in her department. At least to Eddie’s eye. “Anyway, he’s in the middle of renegotiating his AOP budget because their org is...less balanced than ours, and he thinks he can get approval for more headcount. Specifically, for someone to take the risk team off of his plate. He’s looking for a senior analyst to manage the team and some projects.”

They reach her office just as she finishes talking, but instead of stepping inside, she leans against the doorframe. “And they’re considering me?” Eddie asks, honestly a bit surprised. 

“I know it’s not the role you're in right now, and I know you’ve enjoyed not having any direct reports since the reorg we did. And you’ve done a really amazing job with your accounts, so I don’t want you to think I’m trying to push you away from what you’re doing now. If you aren’t interested in the role, Prouxl sounds happy to wait for an opening and poach you at a moment’s notice.” 

“Is there a JD yet?”

She shakes her head. “No, but he gave me the elevator pitch version of his proposal. I think the title is Senior Risk Project Manager - so you’d manage the analysts who manage the accounts, and you’d work with him and their Solutions Architect to elevate their team’s systems, pipeline your team to get the best talent into some bigger roles, and then you’d ease any new account holders into their relationships with whoever takes it on.”

Eddie...doesn’t know what to say. In the nine months since coming back from Derry, he’s found his work...a bit unsatisfactory. It’s not even really that he hates it. He can do it, basically, with his eyes closed. He has good benefits and he only really dislikes a few of his coworkers, and his new apartment is close enough that he can take the subway, which means his commute sits at under twenty-five minutes. But.

But it’s not enough for it to be easy, anymore, not when there are people he’d rather be closer to, places he’d rather be. His life feels like it’s being pulled across the country by an invisible string. Bill and Mike in Bill’s seaside Malibu mansion, doing what Richie is calling ‘cohabitating’ - he says it with a tone that Eddie can’t replicate but that always makes him laugh. Ben and Bev are in London, right now, but Ben has houses all over the place. He’d offered Eddie his loft in LA when he first told the Losers he was leaving Myra - “I know it’s not where your life is, but if you wanted to get away, or if you wanted to be close to Bill and Rich, I can leave the keys for you. You could stay as long as you want.” 

Eddie had said no, and he didn’t regret it, per se, but he often wonders what would be different if he had just committed to blowing his life into a million pieces, said ‘fuck it’ and run to California. He remembers saying to Ben, “I can’t live my life like Joni Mitchell, man.”

Now, he feels the absence of his friends in his daily routine like an actual wound, a hole in his chest that physically hurts if he thinks about it for too long. He misses them all so much, more than he ever thought possible. And he has spent the last nine months realizing that no matter how hard he works at building his own life post-divorce, no matter how much he commits to himself and his own happiness and his own goals, he’s never going to love something as much as the stuff he misses, and he’s never going to be satisfied if he’s always reaching towards some future plans of reunion, especially with how temporary they are. 

And what a waste, anyway, to have so much love and keep yourself from it. 

And that’s why he’d submitted the transfer paper work - he was happy to wait, if it meant that all this change he was putting himself through could be rooted in stability. But this - this offer of something same-same-but-different was so appealing, it actually shocked him. Project management was different enough to be interesting, even if it was new just for a while, and managing people without as much analytic responsibility could actually be...nice. Eddie has pretty good eyesight, but staring at spreadsheets for forty (and actually closer to seventy) hours a week is exhausting not only for his eyes but for his soul. He’s listened to a few Brene Brown audiobooks. He could take some leadership courses. He can imagine most of his time being spent on delegating and strength building for a team. 

“What would I need to do?” Eddie asks, and realizes he wants it. Actively. 

Rebecca smiles, like she’s actually happy for him to move on from here if it means he’ll be happier. How lucky he’s been, to work for someone who sees him as a whole person - not in a kitschy way, she’s never tried to manipulate him by calling her employees her family - but he realizes that she sees him as a person with goals and hopes and needs, and doesn’t hold it against him that he needs to leave her to get what he wants. “Well, Prouxl said he’d know about approval for his budget by 4 o’clock, his time. So I can call you as soon as I hear from him. I told him to call me right away, just in case you were interested.”

“I am,” he says, really meaning it. 

“I'm glad,” she says. 

He almost wants to hug her. “Let me take your mug for you.” He has to pass the kitchenette on his way to his office, anyway. 

“Thanks, Ed,” she says. 

“Thank you,” he says, emphatic, and he takes her mug. 

By the time he packs up his bag - a gift from Bev that feels like it’s meant for someone ten years younger than him - it’s already 5:30. In the elevator ride down to the lobby, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. There are a few messages the group chat that the Losers use, but he ignores them and pulls up his conversation thread with Richie. He’s not sure what to say, doesn’t want to get invested in a possibility that could fall flat because of budget approvals, or a lack thereof. 

He settles on a quick, **_Hey, are you busy?_ **

The reception in the elevator isn’t great, and the message doesn’t actually send until he steps into the lobby. He was planning to go to the gym, but he went yesterday and is signed up for a Barry’s class over his lunch break tomorrow, so he feels okay slacking off on it in favour of talking to Richie, provided he’s free. It’s a nice day - not too warm out yet, but shifting further towards summer each day. If Richie doesn’t answer, or can’t talk, Eddie will brave the outside world on his own and take in the evening sun before it dips away behind the skyline. 

He buys a sandwich from a deli that Richie recommended to him the first time Eddie told him where his office was located. He gets it to go, and walks back towards the park along 68th. By the time he finds a free bench near the cove, Richie’s messaged him back. 

_Howdy doody. I was in a meeting. I’m just about to hop in the car. What’s up?_

Eddie smiles. He takes his airpods out of his pocket and connects them to his phone. Puts one in each ear. _**Can I call?**_

_That bad huh? If you don’t mind that I’ll be sitting in traffic getting across noho_

Eddie hits Richie’s contact at the top of their conversation and dials. 

When Richie answers on the second ring, he says, “What atrocities has Paul from Marketing committed today?” instead of a greeting, which is only one of the ways in which Richie’s entire way of being is different in adulthood compared to how he was when they were kids. He used to answer the landline the Toziers kept on a side table in their living room in different voices, but he always said, “Tozier residence,” no matter what bad impression or accent he donned. It seems funny to Eddie, now, rooted enough in manners that his mother desperately tried to imprint onto Richie but also silly. It’s such a specific thing - Richie choosing to be himself and be somewhat palatable in case it was someone calling for his parents.

Richie holds himself back now, which Eddie thinks is different but isn’t entirely sure of it- he knows it’s possible that all of his memories of him and Richie touching are because Eddie was always reaching for Richie, not the other way around. But he thinks that Richie holds himself back now in a way he didn’t when they were kids. Like he’s still afraid of getting his knuckles rapped, although he never seemed too scared of that when they were growing up. 

Time has played plenty of tricks on he and Richie both - although he thinks that Richie’s never done anything really bad in his life; sure, his career has some cruelty run through it, some really nasty thoughts about women and sex and masculinity, but Richie seems to be slowly but surely unravelling the hurt he’s caused, and seems determined to confront it, even if it takes time, even if no one forgives him. Eddie’s not so sure about his own grace or how own goodness. Eddie suspects that he’s just as selfish and self-serving as Myra says. He suspects he is less deserving of good things than Richie, but also suspects that’s like comparing a tea candle to the burning sun. Richie’s brighter than Eddie in every sense of the word. 

“He continues to be employed, so I guess that’s his first offense,” Eddie says, can’t help but smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Oh,” Richie says, and Eddie wishes he could see him. “It was okay - it was mostly numbers, you’d have loved it. It was extremely boring but it looks like I will continue to get some nice royalty cheques from the bastards at Netflix, so could’ve been worse.”

“What’s the worst royalty money you still get?” Eddie asks, and Richie laughs on the other end, nasal and sharp. “Please tell me.”

“Probably the episode of Big Bang Theory that I wrote. Humiliating.” 

It makes Eddie smile, and he feels shy about it for some reason. Wants to suck his lips between his teeth. Instead, he says, “I’ve missed you.”

“Awww,” Richie croons, “I miss you too, Eds. That why you called? You just wanted to hear my voice, huh?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but Richie’s at least half right. “You’re only like, half right.” That makes Richie laugh again, a burst that doesn’t linger, but still makes Eddie feel bolstered. He’s not always sure what the right thing to say is, but he’s been working through that in therapy - it’s hard to say what you mean, and to mean what you say, especially with impulse issues and severe anxiety. He’s working on the small stuff - even if it sounds like a joke or like he’s just egging Richie on a bit, flirting in a way that seems like a joke, Eddie knows it’s real and he knows what it means for himself - when he can finally work up to being really earnest and actually sounding earnest at the same time, he’ll be really proud of himself.

“What’s the other half, then?” Richie asks. 

Eddie has a sudden, vivid memory of an episode of _The Simpsons_ in his mind, someone saying to Millhouse, _Maybe you should get your hopes up a bit_ . And Millhouse saying, _They’re already up! They’re sky high!_ He doesn’t think he’s seen an episode of the show since grad school. His brain is so broken. 

“The other half is that I have something happening at work that could...change some stuff for me, but I won’t know what’s happening until end of day, so I called you so I didn’t go out of my mind.”

“Please tell me you’re not still at work.”

“No, I’m sitting on a bench eating a sandwich from Boulud.”

“Eds,” Richie sounds delighted. “Describe it for me. God, I’m jealous.”

“The special today was a Cubano, but I got the cranberry-turkey one you like. No dijon, though.” 

“Your disdain for mustard physically pains me,” Richie says. 

Eddie smiles. “You’re wrong. It means when we order charcuterie you can have all the grainy mustard and I’ll take all the onion jam.” 

“What about the olives?” Richie asks. “More for me?”

“More for you,” Eddie agrees. “We’re going halfsies on the cheese and meat though.” 

“Sure,” Richie says. “You’re making me hungry.”

“You have dinner figured out?”

“Nah - I have some leftovers in the fridge which I should probably eat. But now I just want a good ol’ sando. Will you come over and make me your grilled cheese?”

“Sure,” Eddie says, playing along. They do this sometimes. Make fake plans to make up for all the things they want. Pretend it doesn’t hurt to not be together all the time. It makes it easier, sometimes. Today, Eddie just wishes it were possible. “I’ll be over in...say...twenty minutes.”

“So tell me about the work thing. Even though you’re trying to avoid thinking about it.” 

“I put in transfer paperwork a few weeks ago. I’ll find out tonight.”

“After the working day is done?” Richie singsongs, not Voice to match Cyndi Lauper, but the tone and rhythm of the words near perfect. 

“Well, they said by 4 PM Pacific time. The transfer is to LA, obviously.”

Richie is quiet for a second, and then he mimics Eddie, “Obviously!”

Eddie laughs. 

“How is it obvious, Eddie! How is that obvious?”

Eddie’s still laughing, totally overcome with affection or delight or something else entirely, huge and tender but not scary at all. “Not to inflate your already insufferable ego, but please tell me: in what world do you think I would uproot my life to move somewhere you weren’t, man. For real.”

“Oh!” Richie says, and he sounds excited, but he stays quiet for a few seconds. They stretch and stretch. Then, “You should have told me before.”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Eddie, baby. You already have.”

“I can tell.” Richie snorts a laugh. “Listen, I don’t know what will happen.”

“I sense a big, hairy but.” 

“I don’t know, man. I kind of don’t care if it works out or not because I think I had decided what I was going to do as soon as she mentioned it to me. Like - if the job doesn’t work out, I think I’ll just pack up and come there anyway.”

“Wait, really?”

Eddie shrugs, remembers Richie can’t see him. He’s not sure how to explain himself without showing Richie all his cards. How is Eddie supposed to make all the things he feels make sense outside of himself? He’s not sure he can just say: _I think if I was there, you and me...we could figure it out_ or _I am so tired of being away from you_ or _I have spent my life caring about so many things in this half-hearted way. I’m ready to love something fully and I want that something to be you_ or _I want to fall in love with my life_ or _Richie._

“I don’t want to waste any more of my life,” he lands on, because that’s the best he can do at the moment, so far away from Richie and so invested in what happens to the sweater of his affections if he keeps pulling this thread. He feels incredibly brave, sitting on a bench in the middle of Central Park, his airpods in his ears and his heart on his sleeve. If only Richie could see him. “I hate that we’re always apart.”

Richie doesn’t say anything for a second, and Eddie feels a pang of mourning for their old landlines. Eddie used to sit on the floor in the hall to talk to Richie for hours, did the same with Stan, too, and the rest of the Losers, but it was different than it was with Richie. 

Eddie would do pretty much anything to talk to Stan again, even just one more time. 

He remembers the way sound used to travel through the phone with old landlines. The sound of a TV in the background, Richie’s parents or sister in the background, ambient sounds of a busy house; the way Richie used to keep his radio on when he used the upstairs phone, and how Eddie used to be able to sometimes make out what song he was listening to, even with the volume turned way, way down. Now, Richie’s iPhone and Eddie’s iPhone and the wavelengths between them cancel out anything that could worm its way into their conversation. Eddie can’t even hear any of the sounds of the road as Richie drives. 

“Yeah,” Richie says, suddenly sombre. “I hate that too.” 

“What time is it there,” Eddie asks.

“Quarter to four,” Richie says. Then, “Eddie, listen-”

“Rich,” Eddie interrupts, unsure why he does but feels overwhelmed, suddenly. “You gotta know I-”

Richie laughs. “Jesus.”

“I’m serious.”

“About what?” Richie says, and Eddie imagines him rolling his eyes. Although Richie never really did that, not when it was Eddie. He rolled his eyes at Bill and Ben plenty, but never Eddie. 

Eddie shrugs. His head is full of fantasy and memory alike, and he feels, simultaneously, like the swirl of it all will do his head in, while being the only thing that feels real, the only thing that holds him together. He feels Richie’s absence everywhere - when he looks at his life now, all he sees are the gaps where Richie would fit perfectly. How silly, Eddie thinks, to be so jerry-built, barely held together by desire and longing and a half-formed plan. “About this,” Eddie says, which feels like the cowards way out, and he’s working on being brave when it counts, even when he’s not back against a wall. He thinks that’s what bravery really is - when you actually have a choice to do nothing without serious consequence, without harm, and you still do the scary thing. So he adds, “About what I want.” 

Richie says, “And what do you want?” 

“I want to be happy,” Eddie says. “I think I could be really happy, if I were there. If I were there with you.” 

“Okay,” Richie says, and Eddie would cut off his arm to see Richie’s face in that moment. He sounds like he’s happy. “So. What now?”

Rebecca isn’t going to know anything for another fifteen minutes, at least. Eddie isn’t rushed to go anywhere. “I guess we wait to see if I have to quit my job tomorrow.” 

“Should I let you go?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No. If my boss calls, I’ll have to let you go, but I don’t have anything else going on. Unless you gotta go.”

“No, I’m still sitting in standstill on the 405. Are you sure you want to move here?”

“Don’t try and scare me out of it now, Richie, Jesus. I’m being very daring over here.”

“Fine,” Richie says, and Eddie feels like he’s on fire. “Stay on the phone with me, at least.” 

“When she calls?”

“Yeah, put me on hold and come back to me. I’m happy to wait.” 

Eddie smiles. His phone says it’s 6:52 PM now. 

“Yeah, okay.” He says, then, “How was your day?”

“Good,” Richie says.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. Eddie doesn’t know how, but he thinks it’ll all work out. 

“Yeah, my day was good.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> the title is inspired by one of my fav movies, cléo de 5 à 7 (1962). i'm pretty sure the entire thing is on youtube if you want to watch it, which i'd recommend. please vote, please wear a mask, please come say to me on twitter @decinq_


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